I am Special

Are you at some chronological point between 25 and 35, at a financial place we like to call ‘upper middle class’, and in a state of dissatisfaction?

I know I am- most of the time- dissatisfied that is; the age and economics are pretty much stable! And sometimes by myself, sometimes in cahoots with similarly oppressed friends, I try to find out the root cause of this unnecessary, inexplicable distress.

Based on my own judgment of my life thus far, some thoughts have evolved.Sharing my ideas with you good people in the hope of a better understanding of this non-dilemma!

I am including pretty much everyone between 25 and 35 in this group. Given that the gaps between generations keep getting deeper and closer together, I am not sure how right this is. But based on purely subjective experience, I am going to continue with the same demographic sample.

Most of us in our late twenties are either single children, or one of a pair. As such- we have received more than our fair share of attention. While a good education was ours by right, most conveniences too were only an ask away. Not all of us were the best of students, but then the alternative areas of achievement were many. Some played badminton, some danced, some swam, some sang- most of us did more than one of these! It was basically very doable- thanks to a mixture of comparative affluence, perceived ability, and of course- peer pressure! So what I’m driving at is- we’re quite an ‘accomplished’ generation. All of us have had a growing up phase liberally sprinkled with achievements - a district tournament here, a music award there. And since parents had only one or two children to focus on, the appreciation was abundant too.

And then we grew up.

Where once we were a ‘superstar’ for every 50/50 in Maths, small appreciations became hard to come by. I guess we assumed adult life would be an extension of the individuality we had always enjoyed. Each of us stood out from our peers in some way or another, and it was only natural to assume that the ‘individual identity’ would continue. However, as adults, we found ourselves working at something a thousand others do, struggling through courtship and marriage like everyone does, getting caught in traffic with a hundred others.

Nobody’s special.

I wonder if that's the reason we're seldom 'mad-happy' in adult life. We have taken our ‘awesomeness’ for granted and assumed others would see it too. Well, I’m sure each of us is very special in some way, but not enough to set us apart the way a ‘1^st prize in athletics’ did in school!

Perhaps we miss that.

And we look for it in the minor victories that life has to offer.

But it’s just not the same, is it?

A richer solace...

This piece is a penning of some of my thoughts and perceptions on God, Religion, Spirituality, and such. It is quite possible I see a fractional picture from my chosen promontory, but I put it in words- such as it appears to my mind. While I do this I wish to state, nay insist, that I have no intention of judging or belittling anyone's faith.

I have never really thought a whole lot about the God question. For the greater portion of my life thus far, He has pretty much let me be and I have done the same. You might ask me - Are you agnostic then? Or plain atheist? If I say- I believe in God but not in religion- what does that make me? Call me that.

Living in India and enjoying the culture, it is fairly impossible to stay disconnected from religion - especially during festivals. Festivals in India bring out the maximum expression of colour, sound, and of course- faith! We dress up in our finery, cook the choicest sweetmeats, and directly head to God's doorstep to thank Him for the bounty - or at least that's the purpose I've always perceived. This year, the spirit of the season took quite a grip on me and I felt a strong urge to visit the most popular Ganesh Temple in the city! In my college days, I remember I'd be there on Padwa Pahaat - dawn of the New Year. I must confess, what brought me to the temple that day was equal parts nostalgia and curiosity. Curiosity- because I don't know what one calls that feeling of 'exploration' one has... an attempt to understand what it is that drives so many but eludes me!

With a scrubbed face and shining spirit, I reached the temple. Temple- God's abode- full of riches and pleasures; what I met with though- was poverty. It begins at the first step and continues right to the altar- that slow whine, that suffocating stench of poverty. I speak not of financial dearth (though I am sure it plays a role). I refer to the poverty of spirit - so much more disheartening. Call me an idealist (we're looking for adjectives anyway!) - But I firmly believe that God is where I find peace and satisfaction. What I saw all around me was 'want'. People queuing up to bribe the Lord. Promises and Threats. I had hoped to see joyful faces - I saw instead, hasty greetings, perfunctory courtesies and a task struck off the day's checklist. I saw beggars turning peoples' fears and insecurities into capital. I saw all that was weak and depraved in human nature. Everything that shouldn't belong in a place of worship. There was pain and there was dissatisfaction. The God here seemed distant, faraway... disappointed.

I do understand that many people have real and great sorrows in life and they will turn to God for solace. What I complain of though is the 'business' of God. The 'let's be done with this' sentiment. Visitors of the almighty were in such a rush to say hello and get back to their festivities that they had not a moment to sit or to say a simple sorry to the fellow they had had just nudged past. Does praying once a day, excuse us from common courtesy to a fellow human being?  The vendors refused to return a greeting, unless you were bringing business! Even the donation box seemed to look accusing if one failed to give it its due coinage.

I sat a distance away from the hustle-bustle of the crowd in a somewhat pensive mood. And my mind drifted back to an afternoon a long, long time ago- somewhere in Konkan. We were traveling with family friends and stumbled upon an old Shiva temple. A beautiful stone structure with no one but a solitary Brahmin to keep the God company. We washed our feet and settled down on the temple steps absorbing the peace and quiet. And then arose a tune- my uncle, a classical singer. He took in my surprise, and said- "It is a temple. This is Saadhana (worship)." For I don't know how long after that, he sang Raaga after Raaga... friends and family offered their share of talent... and the afternoon was a symphony of love, gratitude and camaraderie! This was our offering to the Lord- a fraction of all that He'd blessed us with. This was Peace. This was Joy. This was the presence of God.

For me, He resides in Art. Others perhaps see His presence through formal prayer. Whatever the form one's Faith takes, I wish it'd be wholehearted and sincere. Whatever form your God takes, I do believe He shouldn't be the in the shape of a Need, a Fear, a Routine. May He be all that is the richest and finest in us. It is with this prayer that I left the temple that day.

The Window

Standing patiently outside my window- he waits.
His silvery caresses enter my room,
But he watches from afar-
Ever patient; ever pleasant;
Expecting nothing.

And I wait impatiently;
Trapped within my window.
Someday he will demand I bring him in…
Someday he will grow impatient like me…

I wait that someday he may want more than this fraction;
I wait that someday he may wish to see me whole.
But he makes no demands.
Tomorrow, he will come again.
Unfailingly.
And he will stand outside.
Unattachedly.

I know that the day he enters- he will fill up my existence-
Suffocate me even.
But I invite the encroachment.
For then, he will be mine.
The weight of expectations is much easier to balance
Than the suspended state of artificial equilibrium.

It's fairly simple, Freud!

What women want is a mystery it seems. Freud started this sham. How convenient!

Who, irrespective of gender, does know their mind? And again, irrespective of gender, who really wants anything outside of the usual- love, respect, and good humour!

Recently, I witnessed / heard some stories of men who may or may not have read Freud. But who have definitely gotten it right as far as knowing ‘what their woman wants’ goes! (While I see these stories from a woman’s perspective, they can just as well be read as beautiful examples of companionship! :)) 

Couple of months back, we went to see the famed Flamingos of Bhigwan. Rather atypical of a tourist spot, upon setting foot in Bhigwan, one is not thronged by dozens of touts, each pushing his boats merits in your face. It is quiet and one or 2 fishermen will calmly approach you and ask if you wish to hire a boat. The negotiations are friendly and usually end on an agreeable note. In our case, we were approached by a fisherwoman. As is expected for a woman of her limited means, she was lean; but her eyes shone with keen intelligence. The usual negotiations regarding price and distance took place and a mutually agreeable arrangement was reached.

Since it was somewhat late in the day, we had to go quite a way out. On the way, we met a returning boat full of people, and our boatwoman introduced the boatman of the other boat as her husband. Then she went on to tell us how she usually did not take up boat-rides by herself, but had him by her side. With her stories and ours, we continued to float in pursuit of the elusive Flamingos. The pleasantly warm morning started to turn into a scorching afternoon, and as the sun rose we started to feel increasingly concerned about our boat-lady who was beginning to look rather weak. We turned around and started making for the shore, expressing the concern we felt; unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could do to help. Turned out there was someone who could though... and he did too! Just a little distance on our return route, sat the lady’s husband- waiting for us! Once we got closer, he swiftly jumped aboard and took over the oars from her. His care for his wife had brought him all that way out walking- after depositing his customers back to the shore! The relief that flooded the woman’s face on seeing him was more beautiful than any poem or love ballad ever written!

That’s something a woman wants- someone who understands the unspoken.

A little while after this incident occurred, I was narrating the story to my aunt; and she had her own little story displaying how without ‘higher’ education or culture-conditioning some people just instinctively get it right! They are sensitive enough to see, and brave enough to give, exactly what the other person wants.

This aunt of mine is a doctor by profession, and at present is a full-time counselor at a rural hospital in Alandi. She has consciously chosen this profile to fulfill what she sees as her commitment to society and her profession. She began to tell me about a couple who walked in for a pregnancy check-up. The woman naturally gave her case history, at which time, the first thing she mentioned was- she was HIV +ve (she did not have AIDS; she was HIV +ve). Naturally, the obvious sequence of questions followed- Did you know before the pregnancy? Was your husband aware of this? And, turns out- he was! She was HIV +ve due to breastfeeding from her HIV +ve mother. This man- her husband- was not HIV +ve; he was healthy in every way. He knew her history, her medical condition, and still wanted to be her life-partner! And now, they were having a baby- and both of them were doing all they could to keep it from inheriting this terrible legacy.

That’s something a woman wants- someone who stands by her.

The narrative left me speechless. My aunt is quite a creature. She told this story to me, and within minutes, she herself became a story in this same stream. As we rose from our tea and chat session, she happened to mention how she was looking up references and cases of HIV +ve couples so she could help this duo and then added- your uncle and I will be discussing it tonight. My uncle- her husband- is a doctor himself; yet, I found this rapport a bit surprising and said so as well- ‘You have conversations like that? Where you actually sit down and discuss?’… I could hear in her words and voice of her answer that yes- they not only spoke, but they shared the same language! How many couples, in this day and age, set aside an evening to have a quiet meaningful discussion- that doesn’t pertain to kids, money, family! It wasn’t surprising, of course, that they talk or discuss things… but they were actually taking out time to exchange ideas, share perspectives over something that was not strictly ‘personal’, but which she cared about – and hence, he cared about!

That’s something a woman wants- someone who listens.

Momentary Truth

He was like the rolling sea-
Ever changing form,
Ever in turmoil,
Finding his stability in motion.

The sea that touches the shore for one brief moment,
And rolls away-
Does he reveal his true nature in the surge…
Or the ebb?

His being here was real,
And so was that which drew him away,
His feelings- as true as they were transient...



-R

Dance!

I’m dancing again!

There comes a point when routine becomes second nature, and socializing is just a series of motions one is going through. Much of the present is pre-planned and most of the future is predictable. Everything new soon becomes familiar; the much-sought-after stability is finally here… and then there’s something missing again!

Long back, my friend- ‘A’ shared this wisdom (attributed to Elvis Presley) with me- “To be happy you need 3 things- Something to do, Someone to love, and Something to look forward to”! Every time I am bothered by the vague anxiety brought on by monotony, this line usually helps point the missing gap- this time… this time round, it told me why I am suddenly a happier person J

After a longish while of droning along, I have found something that I ‘can’t hardly wait’ to do every.single.day.! I am dancing again!!

It is true we do not realize the value of what we have, until we lose it… even temporarily. Dancing my way from childhood to my teens, I didn’t realize at what point the college canteen replaced my dance lessons. Didn’t realize, when the laptop slowly pushed out the Nattuangam.

Never saw it happening… when did I hang up my dancing shoes? Or, in my case, my Ghungroos :P

But as I begin to pick up my feet, it’s like the years fall away, and the rhythm courses through like a familiar pulse! I find my thoughts pausing, trying to recollect the way the choreography flows; only to realize that my feet aren’t! And while the feet follow the pulsing rhythm, the mind goes back to the many girls whose feet once synced with mine. I remember the girl who would come all the way from Lonavla to Pune for the weekend classes. And another who cycled all over town, so she could save her transport money for the fees. Jatiswaram- Raga Kalyani, still brings to mind the tall, gangly image of a girl by the same name! Every time the stamina threatens to give away- the stern voice of my teacher still rings clear as if it were yesterday! The ballets, the costumes, back-to-back practice schedules, crazy days… a stage full of memories…

Today, when I dance, it is not only the joy of a passion rekindled… but also, of the many, many reminiscences! It is like a facet of ‘being’ rediscovered… like finding a secret window in the walled sameness of everyday… it’s like being reminded of what Someone Once Told Me - There's always a reason to dance!

White Summer

Watching all the 'bring-on-the-merriment' Hollywood movies around Christmas, I always wondered what the big deal was about a ‘White Christmas’! Even the actors spreading the spirit looked runny-nosed and red-cheeked from the blistering cold! Why then did these people not just look forward to, but hope for, this extreme weather!? Back then, I figured it was one of those things you had to be there to enjoy. And then, luckily I did get the opportunity to be in NY for a Christmas, and it did turn out to be a White Christmas! It looked beautiful! A giant sheet of clean white sequined with red and green, the lights giving it all just the right sparkle… it was a sight alright! But somehow, I could sense, for the locals it was not just the beautiful backdrop that held the allure of a ‘White Christmas’…

I returned to the homeland and the mystery remained unsolved and forgotten in a corner of the mind. What also returned with me was a yearning, a longing to enjoy some more of what I was leaving.

And then- came Summer; and with summer, came so much more- a mixed bag of discomfort and happy memories. The Indian sun is harsh and bright; it bears down in an unrelenting white beam and the landscape becomes a haze of heat! But for those of us who’ve bobbed on these heat waves all our lives- it also brings the softness of balmy evenings, the coolness of a shady glen in one corner of the courtyard- where all the neighbourhood children would gather for the game of the season (it varied you see- some years it was carom, and for some it was cards :P)! Afternoons full of a gaggle of aunts drying out the year’s supplies, and uncles messing with the ice-cream pot. Afternoons full of banter and bickering, Kulfi and Khus, and lazy long hours that are the gift of summer. Summer- made fragrant by the mangoes and the jasmine, coloured in the vibrant shades of a sunset in May!

It’s funny how some bonds are based on discomfort! What the pleasant winter months couldn’t do, the harsh beauty of summer had done- awoken the spark of identity. Yes, it is oppressive and at least once each day we ask- “when’s this getting over?!” and yet- it belongs. It is the unique weather of our land that cannot be replicated anywhere- same as our unique ways of dealing with it, and the many, unreplicable memories born of it!

The heat, the sweat, the dust… the incessantly cooing cuckoo, the Gulmohur, the pickles! They all go hand in hand; they’re all part of the same picture. And that picture is mine. Its hot strokes are mine, as are its cool light breezes; and the plethora of images it weaves are mine. This is the picture of the ‘White Summer’- and it is special because it is mine.